Saved by the Devil (boyxboy) ✓

Chapter Twelve

[A/N] Picture of his room is above.

I wasn't sure what I was to make out of the room I was given. It looked old. Old new. Does that make any sense? It was beautiful, archaic, majestic and extremely, uncomfortably, extravagant. The room was white, mostly. Brown, vanilla, and black being involved in the scenery as well.

Despite the potential for comfort the room I was to stay in I was not convinced anyone could feel at home here. It looked like something my grandparents might have bought if they infinite dough. They were bingers themselves but this went a bit far. It was evidence of what looked to be a profligate lifestyle if I'd ever seen one, but he was the devil, was there even a requirement for currency round here?

This all brought me to wondering where the fuck I was.

Another dimension? Was I on another planet?

Sure, maybe I should be wondering if this is all a joke, a dream, some prank on reality TV. I knew it was not. So I did not bother coming to such conclusions.

Whatever I felt with the devil. The way his touch seemed to release all tension in my body. How it was almost natural to slink away into his presence and feel sheltered and safe... It was no prank, it was no dream. The sensations made what I was going through feel all too real for me to deny.

I turned to find him much closer than I anticipated.

"Oh damn!" I yelped as I turned face first in his chest. "Shit, sorry."

"No profanities in my presence." He said.

"Sorry." I blushed. Jeez this guy really didn't seem as much of a devil as an angel. Why wasn't he a big evil bastard with horns and red skin? I'm kind disappointed. "Aren't you supposed to be evil?" I asked.

He snickered. "Evil. Yes many on Earth believe that."

"You aren't?" I asked.

His body rippled past me like a powerful wave as he fell into one of the rounded cream colored sofas with the oddly numerous gold hinted pillows to match. He signaled for me to follow suite with the crook of his finger.

Honestly. If anyone else had done that I'd have no idea what they where asking me to do. But it seemed to be a common occurrence to just understand what he meant with what he did. More so than with others. For me at least. I'm an extremely unashamedly insensitive person. If I see someone crying I won't ask them why, I'll ask them to stop because it's loud and obnoxious and we are in a library.

I sat down in the sofa next to him. He crooked his finger again. I looked at him. He raised a brow. I sighed and took my place beside him. His arm went up around me and immediately I was a nervous heart fluttering mess. Dammit.

"Why aren't you evil?" I asked him.

He laughed a little again. My heart rose at the sound. Sounded like low music. Soft and gravelly.

"Do you call the warden of the prison evil? Because he traps and punishes the evil?"

I thought about it for a minute. "Uh no." I said. "I guess not."

"If I punish evil how could I myself be evil. It would go against the entire curriculum."

"But the warden doesn't punish the prisoners, not really."

"Their captivity is their punishment. And I find on many occasion they follow their own means of punishment. They give me a lot of work."

"They what?" I figured it might take me a while to understand everything that goes on here. "So do bad people burn for eternity ever?"